Not Just a Game
by bleedforyou
Summary: Prompt- Flag football: Arthur is trying to get Merlin's attention with his athletic prowess. One-shot. Merthur.


**Title**: Not Just A Game  
><strong>Author<strong>: **bleedforyou1**  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Arthur/Merlin  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Prompt<strong>: _Flag football: Arthur is trying to get Merlin's attention with his athletic prowess._  
><strong>Word count<strong>: 1, 368  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Modern AU. Fluff.  
><strong>Note<strong>: Written for KMM a while back. De-anon day today. LOL 

There was something very carnal and creative about watching men like Arthur played sports—something that made Arthur's cheeks flush and his face break out into a grin. It made Merlin smile when he saw his boss that way, and even though Merlin himself was standing on the side-lines or sitting in the bleachers, he always came out to watch Arthur's games.

The interoffice games were Arthur's favourite part of the week—every week, all of the athletic men from the office would get together for games and this month's sport was flag-football, which was rather foreign for them, but they were doing quite well. As Arthur's secretary, and totally not a sports person unless his sexy boss was playing, Merlin simply sat around and watched the games, sometimes keeping score for them or bringing them water.

He watched as several girls from the office ogled Arthur and secretly hoped they all tripped on those ridiculously high heels they were wearing. Then again, _everyone_ ogled Arthur—including Merlin, but that was because he spent so much time around the prat, dealing with every nuance of his life, that he couldn't help but fall madly in love in the last two years of working for him.

While everyday was a challenge for their friendship—mostly Arthur being frustrated at his lack of total knowledge of everything and Merlin's frustration of Arthur being the biggest prat in the world—they still had fun sometimes and only yesterday they had eaten lunch on the floor of Arthur's office, with ties loose and shoes off. It was little things like that that made Merlin happy enough to never leave his job. Plus, he'd never leave Arthur. Even though he was most likely straight (if he wasn't a workaholic and actually dated, then Merlin would _know_).

Merlin watched as Arthur actually relaxed around his workmates and stretched out for the game in ease, all the tension with being under the CEO's nose (who was also his father, coincidentally) erased from his shoulders. Just then, a co-worker came and told them that he was unable to play because of a hurt back and they all groaned, being down a player.

Merlin frowned, knowing that Arthur would be in a bad mood if his game was cancelled; great, another thing for Merlin to deal with. He sighed, about to grab Arthur's gym bag when suddenly all of the men were staring at him.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur called to him in that dangerous, I'm-going-to-make-you-do-something-you-won't-like-at-all voice of his. Shite.

"Yeah?"

"Come here and put this on, will you?"

"Oh no. No, no, no," Merlin said resolutely as he saw Arthur dangle a flag belt at him. "I'm _not_ playing with you all; you'll tear me to pieces!"

"It's _flag football_, Merlin. Don't be such a girl; no one touches you!"

Exhaling sharply in irritation, Merlin walked over and grabbed the flag, tucking it into his trousers and glaring at Arthur.

"Good boy," Arthur grinned sardonically.

Merlin nearly stepped on his foot. "I hate you."

"Oh, hush, I know you adore me," Arthur laughed, running off to his team. Shite, shite, shite, they weren't even on the same team? Even Leon, Arthur's friend and the only other higher employee that actually liked Merlin wasn't on his team, choosing to play with Arthur's team instead. This was going to be horrid.

Twenty minutes later and Merlin was already panting with exhaustion, unable to keep up with all the athletic boys and feeling stupid and pathetic as all the girls watched. Not that he cared what girls thought since he was a total pouf, but _still_. A man had _dignity_.

"You know, Merlin, you're rather adorable when you're losing so badly," Arthur said cheekily as he ran by him, just barely sweating, making his skin glow in the sunlight.

"And you're rather charming when you're all—stupid," Merlin finished lamely, still panting from running around.

"Clever," Arthur smirked, tossing the football from one hand to his other. "Do you not like sports at _all_?"?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /

"I like /span_watching_," Merlin grumbled. "I can't ogle at sportsmen when I'm trying to play, now can I?"

Arthur suddenly stilled, the ball dropping from his hands. He swooped down and picked it up in the next second, his face suddenly flushed.

"What?" Merlin asked. Arthur knew he was gay—Merlin never hid it, and he actually did date now and then, although he was currently in a dry spell because of his lust for Arthur…

"Nothing, I just… uh, right. Game's back on." Arthur shook his head and then broke out into a grin again. The man was seriously a maniac. "You can ogle me and allow me to win the rest without putting up a fight, _Mer_lin."

"Right," Merlin said, rolling his eyes and walking back towards his own team.

Once they were back to playing, Arthur seemed to _really_ get it on—he was running faster, barely even letting anyone else touch the ball and just barrelling through to score points.

And then, at one point, Merlin finally caught the ball for the first time in the game, whooping as he started to run and then BAM—something came flying at him from nowhere, _picking him up_ and raising him onto a shoulder.

Merlin might've let out a—ahem—manly squeal, and he swore as, fuck _Arthur_, the prat, carried him away from where Merlin had been running.

"What the-! Let me down, you arse!"

"Got you!" Arthur cheered, evidently not hearing Merlin.

"Arthur, this is _flag_ football! You're supposed to get my flag, not me!"

Laughing, Arthur continued on his way, holding Merlin, who was holding the football back towards their side of the field as Merlin squirmed, trying to get away. How in the world was Arthur this strong? Or was he just this light?

"How is this even happening right now?" Merlin asked, furiously still struggling.

"My athletic prowess is great indeed, Merlin," Arthur said, surely grinning his prat-grin. "Quit struggling now, you've already lost the game."

"I hate you so much, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin grumbled, stopping the struggle and allowing Arthur to put him down—surprisingly gently—and then run off to go fist bump and body-slam his teammates. The rest of Merlin's team simply glared at him and walked away, rolling their eyes.

Sighing and sitting down in the grass, Merlin laid back and stared up at the sky. He was beyond pathetic.

"You don't _really_ hate me," Arthur said a few minutes later, coming over and sitting next to where Merlin was lying. Merlin looked up to see mostly everyone gone from the pitch. "Besides, I bet you liked it."

"Getting carried around like a rag doll? Not so much," Merlin grimaced, turning away from Arthur and sitting up.

"Come on," Arthur nudged his elbow into Merlin's back, but Merlin didn't turn around, because, well, he was pouting. Even though he was a fully grown man. "Tell me something… where you, have you ever… I mean, did you ogle…me?"

Merlin did turn then, quickly taking in the look on Arthur's face. It was oddly _sincere_ and nearly _hopeful_, or was Merlin just imagining that? His heartbeat increased exponentially—could this be what he'd fantasizing for two years about?

"Well… I don't know, maybe. Why?" Merlin asked, guarded.

"I just… wondered," Arthur said, shrugging. "I'd like that… if you were, um, you know. Into me."

Merlin scoffed. "Because you want to say even boys are into you?"

"No!" Arthur's eyes flashed. "Because _I'm_ into _you_ and I'd like it if my feelings were reciprocated, you know!"

Merlin felt his eyes widen and his breathing stop altogether. "You're… into… me?"

Arthur blushed and looked away, putting his arms around his knees and shrugging. "Maybe."

Grinning fiercely, Merlin tackled _him_ this time, pressing his lips against Arthur's in an urgent need. It was awkward and somewhat painful at first, considering the wrong angles, but when Arthur let go and put his hand into Merlin's hair and tilted his head, it was fucking _perfect_.

It was later—when they were comfortably tangled up in Arthur's sheets—that Merlin realized that maybe playing sports wasn't that bad after all.

The End


End file.
